Cracks in Our Armor
by PADavis
Summary: Sam is more then capable of hunting solo. Dean has a small problem with that. And broken ribs. But Sam has a plan. Happy Birthday, Lia!


Written on the occasion of LiafromBrazil's birthday. Feliz Aniversário! In celebration thereof, you will find within a battered older brother and an angsty younger. Many happy returns, sweetheart! It was such a pleasure to meet you at Kazcon last year.  
No spoilers, set S1. Bravely beta'd by Merisha. All remaining errors are all my own.  
Disclaimer: Not mine, alas, but Kripke's.

* * *

"Sam."

The strain in Dean's voice made him wince. "You know I can't."

"I can't move…." Breath hitching, Dean demonstrated, pressing an arm down and levering off the bed an inch. "God, I _hate_ broken ribs. Crap, Sam, jus' do it."

"You don't need to move, Dean. You need to stay in bed." The only reply was a raised finger. "What, you forgot the part where you're hurt?"

"How long?"

"In bed? Doctor said a week at least."

"An' what? You're just going to stay, stay in the room," a comprehensive wave of his arm, "just to help me to the head when I gotta piss?"

"I'm not going to be here twenty-four seven if that's what you mean. There's more research."

Dean scrubbed one hand through his hair, the other, spread fingered, pressed down on his side. "Shit. Help me sit up. I at least want to see you while you lie to me."

"I'm _not_ lying." Still, Sam left the laptop long enough grab extra pillows and help Dean settle back against them and the headboard. Sam sat down at the room table again, frowning, as he watched his brother recover from just that much movement.

Eyes squeezed shut, a muscle in Dean's jaw jumped, and he was breathing shallowly through his nose. "You're going to hunt it."

"What? Dean…"

Dean held up one hand, and finally opened his eyes. "You are full of shit, you know that?"

"About what?"

"_Everything_. That you're going to stay here. That you have research to do." Dean was struggling to breathe, hands fisting the sheets. "We found out what it was. And we know how to kill it. And we almost found its lair before, before…" both arms now wrapped around his chest. "You gotta wrap 'em, Sam. So I can come with you."

Now Sam could barely breathe. He bent over, holding his head in his hands, listening until Dean's staccato pants slowed back down to shallow breaths. Felt like his head weighed a ton when he lifted it, not wanting to look at his brother. "Before I missed the shot and the dog sent you down the ravine."

"We all miss shots. Even Dad…"

"No. You wouldn't have missed it."

"You slipped, Sammy. And you clipped it. Only reason it didn't chow down on me." Dean held his breath, grimaced, and started to rhythmically beat one hand against his thigh. "Not your fault."

Sam absently rubbed a spot on his right eyebrow before checking his watch. "It's time for your prescriptions."

Dean's voice followed him to the bathroom. "I'm already high. I can see the fucking roof. Like I'm outside. In the air. Lookin' down."

Sam came out with a glass of water, and caught Dean wearily rubbing his face. "Take them, you can barely breathe." A couple of pills pressed into Dean's palm, a hand supporting his head, a hand to hold the water glass.

His brother gave him a brief out of focus glare, but quickly dropped his eyes, brows pinched together. A nod, and he swallowed the pills, choking a little on the water. He groaned as the movement jerked his chest. "Fuck."

Sam gingerly lowered himself to the bed, perched by Dean's hip. "No one wraps ribs anymore, Dean. You could get pneumonia. That's why the hospital didn't do it."

"Don' care. Not goin' to let you go by yourself."

"Go where?"

"You really think I'm stupid enough…" A gasp, and Dean's eyes squeezed shut again.

Sam pitched his voice low and soothing. "You need to relax, let the pills work."

"Stop it." Teeth clenched, Dean grated out, "Quit trying to calm me down. Just, just stop making me angry." His fist smacked down on his thigh once, twice.

Sam caught the hand before it hit for the third time. "Dean, please. You're wasted, man, you need to get some sleep." He idly rubbed a thumb slowly over the knuckles of Dean's hand. "What're you angry about?"

It came out on a breath, barely audible. "Saw you."

"Saw me what? Miss the shot?"

"Wasn't your fault, Sam." The eyes lifted to his were so washed out they were almost colorless in the weak light. "Saw you re-loading. Packing the duffel."

Sam's stomach clenched a little, but he kept his voice steady. "You sure that wasn't yesterday?" He still had one of Dean's hands in his own, his thumb rubbing slow circles on the back. Sam hated lying to his brother. This would be so much easier if Dean would just go to sleep.

Dean's brows drew together and he blinked slowly. "Yesterday? No, was this, to, um, today." He seemed to shake himself, abruptly pulling his hand from Sam's clasp to pick up the water glass. Draining it quickly, Dean focused steady, pale eyes on his brother.

"Wait 'til I can come." His hand grasped Sam's forearm, pressing with surprising strength. "Don't go alone."

"Dean, I can't wait a week. I have to do something. It's going to kill more people. The dog could be out there right now." His gaze locked on the window to the parking lot.

"Call someone. Caleb's not too far from here."

He dragged his attention back to his brother. "It's a black dog, Dean. I just have to line up the shot."

"Not by yourself. Out of practice."

"So, you can hunt solo but I can't?" Sam sputtered for a second, staring at his hands, unsure what to say next, felt his cheeks burning, guilt and anger warring for control. Anger because it had been three months since his Jess burned on a ceiling, three months of risking his life on one hunt after another, only to find out his brother didn't think he was capable.

Guilt because of, well, because he missed the shot. And maybe because he was out of practice. But he also felt vaguely guilty, in a way he hated, for leaving to go to school. Not that regretted a minute of his four years at Stanford, he'd been a four point freaking oh student at an Ivy League university. But since he'd climbed back in the Impala and picked up the life he had sworn to put down for good, he could see over and over how much his return meant to Dean, making all the more clear how much his absence, never spoken of, had also meant to his brother.

"No, Sam, that's not…" Dean raised his hand, looked almost surprised to see the glass still in it. "Up close, can go to hell pretty fast." He yawned, blinking. "Best way to get 'em's from a distance."

"I _know_ that, Dean." He breathed in sharply, anger gaining the upper hand. Sam stood suddenly, snagged the glass. "I'll fill this, okay?" and without waiting for an answer stalked to the bathroom. As the glass filled he leaned back, stretching, pushing his hands against the ceiling. This wasn't an argument he could win, it was one he needed to avoid. Drugged or not, Dean was as pig-headed as Dad.

Dean's head had dropped to his chest but he roused enough to take the glass from Sam and drink half the water before fumbling it onto the bedside table.

Sam sat down on the other bed, elbows on knees, gusting out a sigh. "Dean…"

"Promise me you won't go tonight, Sam. Promise."

Sam looked up and gave his brother the same earnest, soulful face he saved for relatives of the victims. "I promise."

Dean's eyelids slid shut, his body relaxing on a long exhale. Sam was pretty sure that his brother was asleep before he'd finished rearranging the pillows.

He walked back and tried out the same expression in the mirror. He finally shook his head. It wouldn't have worked if Dean had been conscious.

* * *

Sam did have some research to do. They'd booked a room in a downtown transient hotel and might have been the only occupants not renting by the hour. Sam left a scribbled note "_gone to library_", pinning it to the nightstand with Dean's cell, and headed for the lobby. It was insanely cold in Wisconsin in January. Probably felt colder since they'd driven here straight from Florida.

Hunching his shoulders further into his jacket, he put his head down and practically ran the several blocks to the library. The nine o'clock closing time snuck up on him, but he was smiling as he left. He'd finally found the connection between the victims that had been eluding them all week.

Given that the attack on Dean was a reaction to an immediate threat, Sam had concentrated on the other victims, digging until he discovered some highly unethical business deals linking them together. He was sure now that the black dog was being summoned and deliberately set on its prey. He was even sure he knew who it was. Sam was looking forward to dealing with the human behind this once the dog was dead.

Snow frosted his eyelashes as he jogged back to the hotel. He cupped his hands over his nose and mouth, puffing to keep his fingers from freezing solid. A hot cup of half-caf vanilla latte from an ubiquitous chain coffee shop near the hotel was a welcome respite from the cold. Sam slipped into their room to the sound of Deans' soft snoring. It looked like he hadn't moved. Sam gathered up Dean's prescriptions, another glass of water, and approached the bed cautiously. Both of Dean's hands were visible, fingers curled loosely.

"Hey, Dean. You're late for your meds." He poked the mattress with his foot. "Dean. Wake up." One of Dean's hands twitched, and his head rolled toward Sam, glassy eyes slitting open. "Got your pills, man."

Dean's attention wandered the room for a few seconds, before he focused. "Sammy. Where you been?"

"Just got back from the library. Found the connection between the vics." Sam settled next to his brother, holding out the pills and a glass of water waiting while Dean swallowed them. He coughed harshly, wincing at the pain, and Sam caught the glass before Dean could upend it over the blankets. "Someone is definitely summoning it."

"'The twitchy guy? Hairy face?" Dean lifted his hands to his mouth, put his fingertips together then drew them out to each side.

Sam huffed out a laugh. "Yeah. Moustache man. How'd you know?"

"Just do."

His brother never ceased to surprise him. "We'll take care of him once the dog is dead." Sam got up, pulling Dean forward to adjust the pillows. "You want me to help you lie down flat? Or is this good?"

Rolling bleary eyes, Dean swatted at Sam. "'S'good. Call Caleb in the morning, okay?"

"I'll call him. Go to sleep. I'll see you in the morning." Sam stood up, turned back, eyebrows up. "Unless you need to use the john?" He pointed at the bathroom door. "I'll help you."

"You are such a _girl_, Sam." Dean settled down quickly. Sam watched him stealthily until Dean started to snore again. Satisfied, Sam stood and collected the duffel he'd hidden under his bed a few hours ago. He took a last look at his brother as he silently left the room, pulling the door closed with a quiet click.

The Impala roared into life. Sam pulled his foot off the gas, cursing under his breath, anxiously watching the hotel exit. Dean would probably come back from the dead to kill him if he thought Sam was lead-footing the car. There was no sign of an irate big brother though as he tugged the shift lever to Drive and slowly pulled onto the street through the falling snow, turning toward the old growth forests north of town.

Ten miles up the road, the engine stuttered and died, leaving him to wrestle almost two tons of drifting steel onto the shoulder. He slapped the steering wheel in frustration. Snow was coming down heavily and the woods were another five or seven miles further out. Shifting the car into Park, he closed one eye and hopefully turned the key in the ignition, willing the car to start. The headlights came on, gauges moved, but nothing else. He popped the hood release, selected a flashlight, and climbed out in the snow to trudge to the front of the car.

The hood went up with a creak. Sam played the flashlight over the hoses and metal things, looking for the fucking blinking arrow he was going to need to find out what was wrong with the car. Hands on his hips, he snorted and slammed the hood closed. He sat on the warm metal, considering, as flakes fell and melted next to him.

The car wouldn't start. His phone, he discovered, had no signal. So no calling for a wrecker. He was going to have to walk back to town and find a garage that would agree to tow the car. At night. In a snow storm. Or he could wait for a car to come along before he froze solid and hope the driver would let him hitch a ride. No matter how this came out, he was screwed. Dean was going to find out that Sam not only had been on his way to hunt, after promising he wouldn't, he'd also abandoned the car and all their weapons on the side of the road in a snow storm.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he breathed out a melodramatic sigh. Dean was going to kill him. Twice.

Sam armed himself before packing his duffel into the trunk's hidden weapons cache, draped a blanket over his head, and locked up the car. Check, check and check. Reluctantly, he turned back toward the town and started to walk, grateful for the brilliant quarter moon above. Even knowing that Dean was going to give him a smack down, that wouldn't be for a couple of days at least, and he found he was a little grateful for the sound of snow crunching under his feet and hissing to the earth all around him.

Sounds were muffled and distorted during a snow fall, but after just few minutes, he was sure he heard something ahead of him. Squinting, he made out a light in the distance. The clear sound of a car approaching reached his ears, and the light resolved into headlights. Sam waved his arms, shouting, flashlight beam tracking erratically across the road as danced impatiently next to the road.

He watched in frustration as the car, a taxi in fact, white "In Service" light shining, drove slowly past him without stopping. He ran after it, then beside it, thumping on the trunk lid a few times before the brake lights came on. The cab rolled to a stop next to the Impala. Darting to the passenger side, he yanked open the front door, bending down to see the cabbie.

"Thanks for stopping, man, I really…" He backpedaled as a man in the passenger seat used the door and the frame of the car to pull himself slowly upright. Sam leaned forward, and felt his eyes widen in disbelief.

"Dean?"

Some bills were pressed into his hand. "Pay the man. I have to get something out of the trunk."

"Dean?"

The cabbie leaned forward, tapping the horn until Sam turned to look at him. "Bud, you owe me fifty bucks and that don't include the tip."

Sam bent down again, eyes swiveling to his palm, and counted out three twenties, only to pull them back. "Wait, alright. Don't leave yet."

The cabbie groused, "Not going anywhere 'til I get paid. And the meter's running."

"Dean!" Sam took a few long strides to the back of the car, reaching a hand out to Dean's shoulder. "The car, it's dead. We need to take the cab back to town…"

"Nothing wrong with my baby. She's out of gas." He pointed at a fuel can in the cab's trunk. "Get that and fill the tank. And pay the driver." Dean started a slow trek to the passenger side of the Impala, bracing himself with one hand trailing through the snow collecting on the car. "Hurry it up, so we can get the heat back on."

Cab gone, the Impala purring, Sam looked over at his brother's profile in the wan light from the instrument panel and reflections from the headlight.

"Dean? I, uh, well… how the hell did you know the car ran out of gas?"

"Siphoned off most of it off while you were at the library."

"You… thought you couldn't move."

"I exaggerated."

"But, how'd you know I'd be here?"

"Knew you were lying. Knew you were going to hunt it." Dean kept staring through the windshield. "I woulda done the same thing. But I'm still kicking your ass for breaking your promise."

"I know and that's what I don't get. Why is it okay for you to hunt alone but not me? Even if I am out of practice, I can still hunt." Sam sounded petulant to himself but he was hurt and angry and guilty.

"No, that's not what I…, look, it's not that it's not okay, it's…." Dean rubbed his face. "It's that you don't have to. Hunt alone."

Sam felt some of his anger drain away. "You had to hunt alone a lot? I didn't know."

"This isn't about me. This is about you. Protecting yourself. Not doing something stupid when there's, there's something smart." He shifted on the car seat, looking over and catching Sam's eye. "You ready to hunt this thing?"

"Tonight? You can't. I don't even know how you're moving. Unless…" he leaned over and pulled Dean's jacket open. Running the fingers of his right hand down Dean's chest, he groaned. "You wrapped your own chest?"

"Yeah, because my bitch of a little brother wouldn't."

"What did you use?"

"Duct tape."

Sam winced and laughed at the same time. "Dude, taking that stuff off is going to hurt as much as your ribs." He looked down at his lap, then up at his brother, residual anger making his next sentence cutting. "You sure you want to hunt with me? Since I'm out of practice?"

"What?"

He huffed out an exasperated breath. "You said I was out of practice."

"Out of… that's not what I meant. It's the rifle. You never did want to learn to shoot one. Practically had to throw things at you to get you to fire a crossbow. And the Winchester in the trunk is a sniper model. You need some pointers before you can use it."

"Oh." Crap, he felt himself blushing. "I thought, well never mind what I thought." Flicking on a flashlight, he illuminated his brother's pale face and dilated pupils. "You're still on the painkillers."

"Shit, yes. High as a kite."

"But you're still going to take the shot, right?"

"Are you kidding? If I didn't shoot you, I'd shoot an innocent little bunny or something. And the recoil would probably kill me." Dean slapped Sam's chest. "I'm going to show you how, then watch as you kill the son of a bitch dog that tossed me into a fucking giant rock." He grinned, teeth and eyes glinting. "Come on, Sammy, time's a wasting."

"You really want to do it _tonight_?"

"Sam, right now I can't feel a thing. I can hardly see anything. Not sure how much help I'll be out there but I can watch your back at least. Besides I don't want to wait. I've got to get this strapping off me. Everyone knows you don't wrap ribs anymore. I could get pneumonia."

"Yeah, you could. Get great big jerk pneumonia. Why didn't I think of that?"

"Good thing the cabbie didn't know. I had to give him a twenty just to hold the roll of tape while I turned around. Bet he would have charged more if he knew it was unhealthy or something."

Sam felt himself grinning at the image of his loopy brother wrapping himself up like a burrito. "Bet you looked like a ballerina." Ignoring Dean's squawk of protest, Sam put the car in gear, and eased onto the road. "We can do this tomorrow. I'll overdose you on Vicodin."

"No. We're here now. Let's do it, Sam. You're going to be awesome."

"You know that already?"

"I'm a great teacher. And I'm the big brother. I know everything."

Sam turned his head toward the driver's window to hide his smile. Hell, sometimes he thought maybe Dean really did.

* * *

Thanks for reading. I hope you'll review.


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